Spiritual Destruction
by IPreferParakarry-Zackovic
Summary: Despite leaving the realm of Strahovlada behind, Flare awakes only to find himself in a new world of nightmares, filled with more terrible spirits and heart-wrenching secrets, while voices inside of him try to corrupt his sanity. If he stands true to himself, will his survival be worth the pain? (Sequel to The Living Nightmare)
1. Chapter 1: Reawakening

**WARNING: As the second installment to Flare's tortured story and a sequel to The Living Nightmare, I must again warn you that this story will contain extreme blood, violence, gore and twisted scenes of torture. Yet again will it be rated M. Read as you wish.**

**SPIRITUAL DEVASTATION**

**Chapter 1: Reawakening**

Flare hated the feeling of waking up. Every time he had woken up, he'd only opened his eyes to nightmarish worlds and vividly grotesque scenes of torture, such had been his tortured, confused life. His mind stirred and a groan escaped his lips. He was sitting against a wall, but the surroundings were unfamiliar. He was in a small room, it's walls made from pure obsidian, a black carpet laid ont the floor, which was also obsidian yet hummed with a strange, unrecognizable energy. Torches on every wall glowing with a ghostly violet flame, yet the room still felt cold. The room had no doors, and Flare could not remember how he had ended up inside.  
"Curse the spirits, it's happening again." He swore, his strangled, dragonesque voice dripping with hatred.

His mind flashed with memories, remembering when he had first woken up, unaware that he had spent the initial fifteen years of his life in a forced sleep. He had awoken in a world of destruction, unarmed and unable to wield fire, and stumbled into the clutches of the horrible demon Strahovlada, the spirit of terror and destruction. Eventually, after seemingly endless torture and beatings, he had reclaimed his fire abilities and destroyed Strahovlada forever, but it had cost him his life, until the twin spirit of Strahovlada, Sanacija, spirit of recovery, had recovered his soul and explained all she could about herself and his missing past. He had said goodbye and walked into a passage she had created, which was supposed to lead into the mortal world and away from the spirits, but everything after that was blank in his mind. He absently started fiddling with his necklace, a gift from Sanacija before he had left the world of Strahovlada. It had a blue diamond on it's end, showing jagged reflections of himself. He was a Fire Brother, but the torture of Strahovlada had taken it's toll on him. His skin was deathly pale, his left arm had been wrapped in a bloody cloth, his left hand's three middle fingers had been replaced by sharp, metallic and artificial replacements. His eyes seemed to glow and blaze a bright scarlet, the way it had been since he had rediscovered his fire abilities.  
He rose to his feet, pacing around the room, examining every detail. He felt a sense of dread, as if something as bad or even worse than his time with Strahovlada was about to take place. Yet again did he have the feeling of not knowing anything, or what he was up against.  
"Could be worse." He muttered. "At least I'm not retching my soul." He shuddered in the memory.  
He gently reached out to the obsidian walls, running his hand across it's smooth, dark and strangely powerful surface. A feeling of anxiety started to swell inside his chest as well, anticipating the worst was to come. He couldn't shake himself away from the feeling, it's grip holding him firmly in it's cold grasp.  
"What am I doing here and why?" He asked angrily. He willed himself, and his arms broke into flames, burning bright red, it's flames licking at the cold air around him. He felt comforted by the fires, knowing he hadn't lost his fire this time. He extinguished the flames and pressed his flat hands against the wall, firmly focused on finding a way out, even though he had no knowledge on how to do so.

Minutes turned to hours as he furiously paced the room, hoping for answers but finding nothing. He felt condemned, like a criminal in a prison, eventually punching the wall with anger. He hadn't accomplished anything, frustrating him further.  
The obsidian started to crack, the cracks glowing bigger and the room starting to vibrate. The torches on the wall started to flicker, their light constantly getting weaker. Flare shut his eyes and put a hand on the wall to hold his balance. when the room had stopped shaking and he opened his eyes, a passage had appeared in the wall in front of him, blasting him with freezing cold air, a horrible sound that reminded him of wailing spirits, with the violet light of the torches fading into pitch-black darkness. Flare muttered at himself. If he'd known that had been the way out, he would have broken the wall hours ago.  
A trickle of dark-red liquid trickled into the light, and Flare instantly recognized the liquid. He'd seen it too many times with his own eyes, whether it was from tortured corpses, walls, buildings or even himself. Blood. He cursed in hatred. He despised the liquid. Seeing as it was coming from the passage, it proved that worse was to come.  
He took a long, deep breath and took his first steps into the passage, disappearing into the darkness. Any normal soul would have been terrified of what might lie on the other side, but Flare kept his calm in an angry way. He had been in situations like this before, and it seemed like it was about to happen all over again. He started walking through the pitch-black, his fire doing precious little to light the way, the cold wind blowing through him.  
"Whatever lies ahead. I'm ready for." He told himself.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER 1. Next chapters will be longer, but I normally begin with a shorter chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2: Broken

**Chapter 2: Broken**

The darkness seemed to press in on Flare as he travelled through the tunnel. Flare could swear th darkness was alive, because it felt like it was grasping him in it's hold, slowly suffocating his life and hope.  
"Get over it." He scolded himself. He felt ridiculous. It was the same way he felt when was facing Strahovlada in her domain, the way she constantly affected his mind, trying to force him to give up.  
'Never surrender.' Flare told himself. He continued forward. The tunnel was quite low, Flare could barely walked at full height, and appeared to be carved through the strange obsidian Flare had encountered earlier. Flare could hear the smooth, black walls hum with a mysterious source of energy, one that he couldn't seem to reach. The only light in the tunnel was Flare's hands, which were glowing with flames. Even with the fire, Flare couldn't see more than five feet in front of him.  
Without looking, Flare's forehead hit something hard. He stumbled back, dizzy and clutching his head as he tried to get a look at what he had just hit. When his vision cleared, he saw what he had stumbled into. A horribly mangled corpse, limbs severed and hanging by it's own blood veins, stagnant blood long dried splattered all over it, a horrible reek emanating from it's rotted, decaying flesh, it's mouth pitched open in a grotesque fashion, spiders crawling in and out of every opening in the body.  
The odour and sight was too strong. Flare couldn't help himself, he buckled to the ground and threw up, yellow bile streaming from his mouth and burning his throat. He shut his eyes and held his breath, trying to forget the unholy object, Without looking, he willed himself and his hands blazed brighter with fire, then blasted at the remains of the rotting corpse, incinerating it into ashes.  
"What have I stumbled into?" He asked weakly. He slowly got up, ignoring his inner pain, and staggered further down the cave.

* * *

As Flare stumbled over rocks and rifts in the cavern's floor, voices started to whisper in his head, as dark and as menacing as the shadows that pressed in on him.

_"Flare."_  
_"The survivor."_  
_"The accursed one."_

Flare gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to shrug off the evil voices that were filling him with confusion and anger.  
"Get out of my head." He said. But the voices kept pestering him.

_"A creature from the fire."_  
_"A stolen mind."_  
_"A devastator of life."_

Flare confusion intensified. Devastator of life? He had never even met a single living being. What were the voices talking about?  
"Get out!" He shouted, his hands blazing brighter.

_"The family curse."_  
_"The bringer of war."_  
_"The flames of death."_

"What are you talking about?!" Flare shouted, losing patience and focus. The voices were somehow toying with his mind, filling him with unknown feelings.  
He tripped over a cleft in the ground and fell forward, but didn't bother to get up. He laid down in a fetal position, clutching his head in his hands as if he was trying to crush his own skull, squeezing his eyes shut.

_"Crosses will burn._  
_"Axes will fall."_  
_"Lives will crumble."_

The voices subsided, leaving an unnerving silence in the depths of the cavern. Flare opened his eyes and released his grip on himself, feeling weary. His fire extinguished.  
"What was all that about?" He asked, feeling more confused than before. He started to feel like he had back in Strahovlada's domain, lost and empty. He rolled himself onto one his side and propped himself up on one arm, hesitant to stand up.  
"Don't give in." He urged himself. "Voices can't hurt you."  
A glowing blaze at the the end of the cave's tunnel drew his attention. Reluctantly, he picked himself up again and forged further into the cave, pushing aside his frustration and confusion.

* * *

The blazing flame was emanating from strange, scarlet markings that were carved into the side of the cave. To anyone else, they would look like nothing more than odd symbols. But to Flare, every mark was translated in his own eyes.  
"The language of fire." He murmured. The markings turned into a readable message.  
"Beware: The army has returned, and they will bring their vengeance with them, eliminating all life from the face of existence." Flare read, then shuddered. His mind started to ponder. "Where is this army and why do they want to destroy?"  
Wet, warm liquid trickled across the ground, streaming around Flare's feet and seeping into his cringed. The smell filled his nostrils, and he recognized it all too well. Blood.  
A low hiss echoed through the cave. Flare could feel his eyes narrow. He turned and stared into the shadows, ignoring the increasingly sickening smell of blood and the glaring glow of the fire markings.  
"Show yourself." He growled. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, a shadowy figure lunged into view from the darkness, a horrible hiss echoing off the walls.  
Flare barely had time to duck as the figure lunged over the side of his head. A quick glimpse was all he could catch, but he could make out glowing amethyst eyes and a body shape that struck anger within his heart.  
"Snakes. He cursed. Strahovlada's grotesque and horrifying appearance had been part-snake, and Flare had a clear hatred for the creatures ever since. Which, ash he reflected within a millisecond, hadn't actually been very long. Awake, at least.  
The snake slithered towards him slowly, and as it emerged into the garish, red lights of the glowing markings, Flare got his first clear look at it.  
The snake had a narrow, sleek body shape covered with metallic gray scales that bristled against the ground grinding the loose rock on the cave floor. It was very long as well. From head to tail, it was about twice as long as Flare's height. It's eyes were empty, glowing in a unnatural and threatening shade of amethyst, and it's forked tongue flickered between it's knife-like teeth, slowly dripping a yellowish venom.  
"I hate you things." Flare said. The snake hissed, perhaps in understanding, it's form slithering closer through the trickles of blood that ran across the floor. Flare stood his ground, unwilling to back away. "What are you waiting for?" Flare growled, his hands bursting into flames. The snake's glowing eyes bore into his own, emotionless and unreadable. Ghostly wisps of gaseous venom curled from the snake's mouth.  
"Hello, Flare Plamen." It said in a monotone voice.  
Flare cringed at the mention of his family name. Having learned about what his family had done, his own father having been the one who released Strahovlada into the world, he had started to resent the name.  
"And who are you?" He snarled. The snake did not reply. Flare's eyes narrowed into slits.  
The snake hissed, arched it's back and lunged, it's jaws opening for biting as it lunged at Flare.  
Flare ducked sideways and hit the wall on his left, the silver scales of the snake flashing past him. The snake landed and turned swiftly, before hissing and rearing, ready to strike again.

_"Struggling is futile."_  
_"The army is released."_  
_"You will be the bringer of death."_

Flare winced as the voice returned to his head, sounding their threats in dark, horrible whispers, trying to sever Flare's concentration. Flare cursed and fought to stay focused on the snake.

_"Everything will die because of you."_

The last voice was filled with so much rage and certainty that it paralysed Flare for a split-second, but it was enough for the snake. It lashed out again, hooked his tail around Flare's arm and swiftly coiled around it. Flare screamed as the lethal point of the scales pierced his skin and wrapped tightly around his arm and dug deeper, shattering nerves and crushing bones. Blood seeped from between the snake's coils, streaming down his arm in crimson waves. Flare started to feel dizzy and weak, his focus and fire failing. He could barely register that yellowish poison was was dripping between the snake's scales, mixing with his own blood, it's venom coursing rapidly through his bloodstream.  
The snake reared his head and hissed triumphantly. It shot out at Flare for the final time, going for the kill. Flare couldn't feel any pain. The vanquisher of Strahovlada was about to be beaten by a snake.  
'_NO!'_  
Something in Flare's dying mind snapped. His heart pounded and his eyes tightened. Without any control, he grabbed the snake by the neck and clamped his hands shut, mercilessly squeezing the life out of the reptile.  
Flare couldn't think. His mind and body were running on uncontrolled adrenaline, but it was mixed with something he had never felt before, something so indescribably dark. With a shock he realized the feeling.  
Bloodlust.  
Flare caught control of himself and gasped. He released the snake, it's gray form falling to the ground in a sprawled, lifeless mass, and laid still. Flare's breathing was fast and shallow, his breath glowing in the cave. His mind was slowly recovering, the snake's poison somehow subsiding.  
"What...have I...just...d...done?" He stammered, shocked of his actions. His knees buckled and he fell against the wall, staring at the lifeless reptile in a pool of blood, not sure if it was his own blood or not.  
"I...killed this." He breathed sadly, his breathing turning heavy with regret. "I did. A living creature. With my own hands." He remembered the feeling of bloodlust. It hadn't been his feelings, it couldn't have been his thoughts, but it had come from him, so far inside he couldn't describe it.  
"How could I have? What's happening to me? His voice was cracking, confusion and emotion flooding over him. He slowly got up, his emotions turning into pure anger. "What is wrong with me?! I want answers!" His whole body blazed, blazing with pure white flames. The flames died, and Flare nearly collapsed, unable to hold more than a flicker of a flame.  
"I have to know." He whispered weakly to himself. "About what's wrong with me, who the army is, and where I am and why."  
He struggled further into the darkness, his thought and confusion as deep as the inky blackness that filled the cave.

* * *

**End of chapter 2,.**  
**Sorry for slow updates, and don't expect them anytime sooner. I have no comfort with some of the later ideas, the chapters are hard to write about just one person, I have no working computer and exams fast approaching. Sorry, but that's how it is, unfortunately. Anyways, please review. Thank you.**


	3. Chapter 3: Nightmare

**Yeah, I'm still not going to update this fast, but I'm keeping this story running. Things are now going to get really gory. If you value sanity, turn away.**

**Chapter 3: Nightmare**

The cave's endless twists, turns and gradient changes were just as confusing to Flare as what was circulating through his mind, from the various, unanswered questions to his growing paranoia, anxiety and rapidly escalating loss of direction and the horrendous, menacing voices that were only itching to taunt his subconsciousness even more.  
"Some world this turned out to be." He muttered, staring at his shadows as it flickered along the cave wall, illuminated by his summoned fire that could not break the pressing black that was the darkness he was forging through.  
At long last, after seemingly endless hours of walking, the cave opened up into a massive chamber, the room at least a mile in diameter and the ceiling so high it couldn't even be seen before darkness enveloped. In the center of the room lay a glistening lake, it's shape filled with a water of indescribable purity. Flare eyes couldn't be drawn away from the lake, of which the perfectly aquamarine liquid seemed to glow and cast rippling light across the chamber. He went towards the edge of the lake and delicately dipped his bloodied and cut hands, wincing as the his fire and the water clashed and feuded elemantally, before plunging his face into the cool, refreshing and crystal-clear liquid. His mind seemed to clear and relax as the soothing water trickled down his skin, steaming due to his high body temperature. Without his mind at war, he realized that he was on the verge of collapse, drained entirely of his energy.  
"I think I can rest, for now." Flare told himself. He laid on the ground; a patch of black, soft sand near the lake, and slowly let his eyes close. The instant his eyelids shut, he was asleep. However, his sleep was not a pleasant one.

**You might want to stop reading until the next bold line. Trust me, if you value your sanity.**

Flare opened his eyes. He wasn't awake, that much he knew, but he could somehow see, though not much could be seen in his blurry surroundings, a surrounding of gray that didn't form into any identifiable shape.. He looked down at himself and noticed that his body was transparent, only a outline that glowed white, while his skin and helmet was more translucent in his respectable colors of pale yellow and red.  
"Where am I?" He asked, voice echoing. "Am I dreaming?"  
A drop of crimson liquid settled on his nose. Soon, his entire vision became distorted, the gray emptiness warping itself into crimson colors as the world started to take a shape. Flare knew the crimson was blood, but he couldn't understand why.  
"Please, stop..." A weak voice, female and barely audible, faintly echoed in his mind. It sounded desperate and pained. Flare wanted to help, but he couldn't see where the voice was coming from.  
He blinked rapidly, and his surroundings came into vision. He gasped, shocked.  
In front of him, three figures stood over a rough, wooden table, their forms hidden behind dark robes of black, as they hissed with a psychotic pleasure over whatever was lying in front of them. Flare could glimpse a dark, flowing trail of blood as it dripped of the edges of the table in generous streams of constant liquid, splashing against the ground of silvery rocks that jutted from the ground, coated with the blood of whatever had fallen victim to the three figures.  
"Yesssss... let her suffer..." One of them hissed, clearly indulging in his grotesque activity. Flare squinted, trying to make out what was on the table. When he could see what was laying on table, he fought down the urge to gag and regretted his efforts.  
A woman, about mid-20's, lay on the table. She may have been beautiful once, with her platinum blond hair and her sapphire blue eyes, but she had looked like she had been subjected to serious torture. Her flesh had been charred, bright red to black along her body, her eyes were bloodshot and streaming with tears, and the further down her body he looked, the worse her torture looked. Her arms and chest had been deeply cut, staining her blue robes in disturbing shades of crimson, her lower body torn and twisted like the world's bloodiest rag doll, and her only sounds were silent whimpers as pure agony took ahold of her.  
Flare wanted desperately to lunge forward and help the girl, of whom he could not recognize, but he felt tethered by some strange force, leaving him as an unwilling spectator to the gruesome scenes in front of him.  
One of the three figures, whose only distinguishing feature was his knife-like teeth that stuck out of his coal-colored hood, brought out a huge blade, one long and wide like a butcher's knife, it's wickedly curved edges long rusted and bloodstained, raised it into the air, and brought it down. Flare winced and openly retched as he saw the horrible weapon cut through blade and bone, soon followed by the strangled wail of a dying animal. Flare knew it was the girl, and he fought down the urge to break into tears as his uselessness. But even with his eyes shut, he could still view the table and it's new slaughter.  
The girl had been chopped from the left thigh down, the remainder of the leg now lay on the ground at the feet of one of the figures. Her body now trailed to a collection of useless, floppy mass of bloody muscle and ragged skin. No bone could be seen, just the collection of stringy, bloodied meat.  
The girl's face was weak, pale and streamed with tears that could not be held back, her sobs punctured by pained hiccups as she wept openly into the merciless and non-existent faces of her torturers.  
"Stupid girl." One of them hissed over the sobs. Her drew a serrated knife from his sleeve and stabbed in through her heart, ending her life instantly as her life essence seeped from her open wounds. "I would have thought that a princess would have been able to withstand a little pain."  
"You were proven wrong then, brother." Another seethed. "But fear not, the army is taking care of the others who would not die easily. Their deaths shall be gruesome, more painful than hers, and we will eventually get through to the main spoil, the son of the fire."  
Flare could see one of the forms turn into his direction, and he understood instantly that it was no coincidence. The figure tore off his hood and unveiled his face. Flare nearly lost his sanity, like the face could dig into his mind.  
Horrible, red, bloodshot eyes.  
A sharp beak carved with razor sharp teeth.  
Mottled, blood-streaked hair tucked under a rusted, red helmet.  
"We look forward to meeting you, son of fire." He hissed.  
Then the world shot up in flames.

**You may read again, but you were warned. But I'm pretty sure you could figure out the victim.**

Flare awoke with a terrified scream, his body drenched in his own sweat and shuddering violently. The remnants of his scream echoed around the cavern chamber, becoming fainter and fainter, just like his thoughts. He openly threw up, his whole body racked and weakened. His mind had become a schizophrenic array of conflicting thoughts, unable to process any of them as his nightmare lanced through it. His eyes teared as he curled up onto himself, feeling weak and helpless as the memories of his dream flashed as violent as they had been. He could feel himself weakening, something pressuring him, like his sanity was beginning to crack.  
"This can't be happening." He whispered to himself. But only few things could be understood in his mind.  
His family was alive.  
And they would stop at nothing to kill him.

**End of C3.**

* * *

**I'll admit, it wasn't my best of work, but I think I covered whatever was needed. The gore was actually inspired by Koopanovic, who can write amazingly descriptive passages about that type of stuff. **


	4. Chapter 4: Cracking

**Chapter 4: Cracking**

_Evil and vengeance exists within all beings. This is the forces of nature. No matter how pure one may appear on the outside, nothing can hide the corruption and evil of the inner soul. At least, not for long, until it eventually claims all. No matter who it claims, the evil will seize upon the heart, either slowly or at once, until it eradicates all sense, all kindness and all attributes of the pure soul, leaving nothing but a hollow shell, unable to reason or cede to any signs of compassion or warmth. The victim in question will be tortured endlessly in it's physical, mental and emotional form and subconscious, forced to submit to the darkness of it's inner corruption, and live the rest of it's life, one which will not even grasp the simplest of memories, in the wretched state it has become._

_This, in short, is the path to insanity._

* * *

Flare took a sharp intake of air. "Focus." He breathed. "Keep calm." He tried to control his emotions, no matter how jaded they had been after his vision. He still had to find his way out of his imprisoning, endless cavern, regardless of what was happening.  
He flicked his hand and willed a fire to burst from his hand, orange flames licking his paled flesh. He mimicked a throwing motion and the fire left his hand, projected at a boulder three times his size. The rock burst apart in a violent flash, throwing chunks of sediment in all directions.  
Flare stared down at the smouldering remnants. The feeling of satisfaction coursed through him, which worried him. The same feeling had happened not too long ago when he had killed the snake. The feeling of destruction. "I can't let this happen to me." He said to himself. He tried to stem the adrenaline of his chaotic feelings, but suddenly he was blown off his feet. Landing hard on his side, he desperately looked around to find the attacker, but the cavern was still empty. He head reeled around as his vision went awry, tinting the world red as sight became distorted and peripheral.  
"What's going on?" He tried to speak, before he was gripped with a painful spasm, the feeling shocking his body to the core, spearing into his brain, hurting it further.  
The cold realization hit him. He had done it to himself, somehow. He was causing his own body and mind to break. He could feel his body and eyes tightening, his mind at war while he still tried to see reason.  
"I'm turning on myself? What's going on?" He strained. He could feel it slowly registering inside. He was losing it. His sanity.  
"No...n...no!" He shouted, a scratchy, strangled sound of a dying animal. "I can't! No!" He let out a horrible cry, something between a scream and a death cry.  
He was slowly losing it. Cracks were building in the mirror.

**End of C4.**

* * *

**Yeah, I tried to experiment at the start of the chapter with a sort of narration. What did you think?**  
**I couldn't write much, but still. I promise there will be more soon, I just had a bad case of writer's block as I figure out what to do with Flare. Plus, my writing in general is losing some ground to my other interests. Ah well.**


	5. Chapter 5: Torture

**Chapter 5: Torture**

Unable to process information through his splintered and distorted field of thought, Flare was barely able to register the fact that the claustrophobic, jagged and dark cavern was far behind.  
He pressed his fingers against his eyes, groaning incoherently. His body felt sore and his head felt groggy, his emotions confused and schpinctered.  
"Where...am I?" He muttered, hardly registering that he was leaning against something rough and wooden, with wet and warm splotches tracing around his fingers.  
Flare's senses went paramount, alarmed.  
Warm and wet.  
The familiar scent.  
The nightmares that rushed through his head.  
Flare jerked his hands backwards and pulled up to his eyes. Scarlet streaks of liquid lapped over his pale skin. It kept all of his nerves to not scream.  
Blood had become too familiar to him.  
What he had been slanting against was a stake, stabbed through the moist soil between a horrifying, gritty tehterweight; a cold, rotten limbs with bone jutting through the dead skin, the flesh being harvested by worms and secreting a foul yellow pus.  
Flare turned away and retched violently, his own stomach mutinying and emptying it's contents onto the surface of soil, a puddle of blood and vomit that kept growing.  
The field encompassing him was no better. In every visible direction, body parts, both inner and outer, were strewn across like litter, blood and gore spilled across the plain carelessly, creating the scene of a nightmare.  
Flare kneeled, his knees sinking into the soft earth, and openly wept. He hated his life. He hated being trapped in a nightmare that seemed to follow him without giving him any respite.  
"Leave me alone!" He shouted, more at himself than his surroundings. "Why can't I just live normally?! Why do I have to be in this nightmare?!" He let loose another death cry, then collapsed, no longer able to fight. Everything had been futile.  
Life was just a nightmare that refused to release him.  
A bloody and miserable waste of a life.  
Flare passed out, weak from what had happened, as if just the malevolent sights had had an effect on his weakening mind.

* * *

Not that sleep offered any respite.

This time, it was even more abhorrent. Now he was the torture victim, one being torn apart by the insane members of his own kind. He was strapped to a wall, the back grooved in a certain shape to accompany his shell, his arms and legs shackled and kept apart, hanging him in a star shape. But when he looked down, agony surged through him an unabated speed. His stomach had been flayed open, his internal parts and skeleton exposed, glistening with the life fluids that were dripping out in a crimson stream. Every few seconds, a demonic figure would materialize out of nothingness and withdraw some weapon of torture, either a knife, axe or sickle, stab it into his exposed organs, jerking is body in abhorrent pain, slicing upwards viciously, causing his body to scream in agony, and a piece of his insides was torn out, nerves and blood spraying everywhere as the glistening organs and muscle were torn out, blood and pus dripping horribly to the ground. Sometimes, the same demonic being would lift it to his mouth, tearing apart the piece with his mouth, chewing it inside his mouth while grinning devilishly at his victim, before swallowing his meat.  
Flare wept was nothing more than the slab of meat for the sick enjoyment of some inhuman beasts.

* * *

The same person in question suddenly snapped awake, screaming in a strangled tone, sweating and shivering feverishly. His mind was turning on itself, whatever had been hidden in it's recesses was slowly leaking out, twisting his mind and thoughts into rage. Flare could feel it. He could feel his inner insanity clutching his brain, waiting for the moment in which it would consume it's meal.  
The Fire Brother sobbed, burying his face in the blood-sodden earth.  
With defeat, he realized he was going to be consumed, sooner than later. But he knew he still needed to fight it down, for as long as had to find out who this army was, before they claimed anymore lives.  
"For others." He whispered weakly. "I'm a lost cause, but there's still hope for the rest."

**End of Chapter 5.**

* * *

**Since I haven't got much going for this story, so I don't think anyone would mind if I turn this Fic into an experimental one, just to work on my skills. So don't expect chapters longer than this.**

**Also, I hope I was gritty and bloody enough, because lately I have had no ability to feel sick from gore. It's all those damn grimdark fics Koopanovic has me read these days.**


End file.
